


can't take the sky from me

by Nixariel



Series: certain dark things [2]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, a.k.a. the fic I should have posted for New Year's, angst angst baby, does not include Fast Forward or Back to the Sewer, my girl's gonna hurt before she gets better, post-Ninja Tribunal arc AU, technically Karai/Dr. Chaplin but I wouldn't call it a ship, the soul-searching kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26450140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixariel/pseuds/Nixariel
Summary: "It is a new day, Dr. Chaplin. Let us see what it brings."('I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir,' said Alice, 'Because I'm not myself you see.')
Series: certain dark things [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/644540
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karai is too tired for the fights warriors live to [write](https://ridinkskinned.com/post/142778415699/a-long-night-lives-somewhere-in-the-left-of-my/amp) about.

The sky outside her window was grey with clouds. New York had been colder than usual this fall; frequent storms left the trees already stripped. Tonight's rain threatened to turn into snow. At least repairs to the tower were complete. The lower levels, the library, offices, labs, and smaller training halls, even the grand _dojo_ at the top, all were open again. Karai was able to move her few possessions into one of the company suites below the roof garden a week ago. Chaplin had even set up preliminary defences to replace the Mystics' now-defunct protective spells. The castle in Japan, the mansion here in New York, and their compound in Tokyo would be next, once the final system calibrations were complete. Even the last survivor of the building's demonic assault, now up and walking, was due to be released from hospital at the end of the week.

By all accounts the Foot was strong again. Despite that, Karai could not shake a feeling of… emptiness.

 _The turtles. The Utroms. Bishop.  
_They destroyed her father. Then saved the world—with her help.  
_How does one live under the same sky as their master's slayer?_

More than a month after defeating the Shredder-demon, the _kunoichi_ still had no answer. She let the reviewed medical report slide back onto her desk. Hair falling in her eyes as she leaned back, Karai noticed her bangs were getting too long again.

_Another appointment to schedule._

Once, that would have been her aides' concern—before she'd sent Wu-yin and Ji back to Japan. Now they oversaw the main branch in her name, as she had done for her father. Karai herself was left with a _genin_ she'd pulled from the walking wounded in the chaos following the demon's defeat. Oh, she supposed he had done well enough—she ought to think about releasing him back to his team. But then Karai would have to find someone new, sort through resumes, do background checks, hold interviews—so much _fuss_. It tired her even to consider it.

No. Better to leave things be. Better to stay as they were.  
Even if he never remembered how to use the intercom.

There was a knock on her door. _As the saying went: gossip and shadows…_

Karai raised her voice enough to be heard. "Enter."

It slid open wide enough for a head to pop through. "Mistre– I mean, _shacho-san_ ," stumbled Fujikara. "Call on line one from Accounting."

"It's just 'Ms. Saki' in America," she reminded him, picking up her phone. "And use the intercom."

His sheepish "Right, Ms. Saki," was lost as the strained voice of her CFO filled Karai's ears.

And so the morning passed. Call after call, followed by a lunch meeting, followed by a regular meeting, followed by more calls. Some were misplaced and did not actually need her personal attention; those were rerouted to more appropriate destinations with a few words to Fujikara (and his profuse apologies). But more of them did, often urgently, and it was dark outside before Karai looked up to see Dr. Chaplin sitting in the corner chair, watching her.

"Chaplin," she said, trying not to be stiff. She hadn't heard him come in.

"You can call me Richard, you know," he joked. "Or even Rick, though most of the kids at school liked to shorten it in other ways."

Karai blinked, twice, before rubbing her ear where the headset of the telephone had dug in. "Of course. Richard. My apologies."

"No, no," Chaplin waved it off, "it's fine. But hey," he sat forward in his chair. "It's past seven. You… wanna get something to eat?"

Automatically, Karai looked at the time on her computer. It was indeed close to seven-thirty. And the lunch meeting ended up including very little actual lunch. None, in fact. She hadn't wanted to run the risk of being caught with her mouth full during the video conference with London. She still didn't feel hungry but Chaplin looked at her so hopefully it was easier to accept.

"Yes," she replied softly. "That would be nice. Thank you, Richard."

He smiled. Karai pretended it wasn't an effort to smile back.

-/-

Chaplin cooked, of course. He'd brought groceries up to her suite on the top floor. He'd also been the first to actually use the little kitchen included in Karai's set of rooms; with the building's cafeteria so accessible, the _kunoichi_ never bothered to use more than microwave and kettle. Sitting on the couch, looking over the kitchen counter to where Chaplin— _Richard_ —chopped and boiled and steamed, Karai thought she should consider herself lucky. An attractive man was making her dinner and she didn't have to lift a finger. He was even good at it, if a little American in his seasonings. Nor, after offering the choice of wine, had he made any demands on her to engage in conversation.

It was… peaceful. _Nice_. She wondered if he ever thought he deserved better. Karai abruptly drew up her knees, resting her head on them.

But no, she was what he wanted—he had told her so. And wasn't that worth something? Being wanted?

Dinner looked to be teriyaki stir-fry with rice. She should have chosen the red.

-/-

"How was your day?" she remembered to ask over the first few bites.

Richard swallowed. "Pretty good, actually." He launched into a account of the recurring issues his team had encountered in trying to write a particular program. Karai let the details wash past her, focusing instead on nodding at the proper moments or making small noises of interest. It never took much to keep the engineer-scientist talking—a trait she appreciated. The more he talked, the less she had to. And although less streamlined than an official report, his stories served the same purpose, leaving her more time during the day for Oroku Industries' other divisions. "…so what do you think?" he finished.

_Damn. Was he still on the troublesome code?_

"I think"—Karai took another sip of wine, buying herself a moment—"that it sounds like both you and your department are working very hard. Perhaps I should take them all out for dinner next week? In recognition of their efforts. Or would lunch be more convenient?"

Richard beamed. An appropriate answer after all; he hadn't caught her lapse. _Good_. She laid her fork on the napkin beside her plate, signalling the end of the meal. Her… _boyfriend_ … instantly stood, offering, "Here, let me help you clean up–"

"It is fine," Karai dismissed. "The dishwasher will take most of it."

Still, he got up with her to take the dishes back into the kitchen. Then he packaged up what was left of the meal as she loaded the dishwasher and put the skillet in the sink to soak. At least they'd gotten comfortable enough in this dance that they didn't bump into each other anymore. With the dishwasher closed and running, Karai paused, feeling the vibrations run though the door and up her fingers. Now came the great uncertainty of every evening: would Richard go, or ask to stay?

So far he hadn't asked. Nor had she offered.

Karai had resolved weeks ago to say yes if he did. Sex itself didn't bother her and every member of the clan underwent yearly physicals. Chaplin's had been shortly before the demon's attack; he was clean. Her birth control implant was standard issue for all active _kunoichi_ and would not need replacing for at least another three years. Still, she disliked sleeping with another body in her bed. Old habits from living on Tokyo's streets, perhaps, where sleep meant vulnerability and solitude the only protection. Otherwise she'd done her best to leave that part of her history where it belonged.

 _One cannot dwell in the past_ , her father said once, the day he'd executed his lieutenant of ten years for failing a mission and losing an entire company of _shinobi_ in the process. _Only learn from it._ The man's record had been spotless until then. She became Ch'rell's new second-in-command the very next day.

Karai felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist from behind. "Hey," said a warm voice in her ear. "You okay there? You look so far away.

She turned to look at Chaplin— _Richard_ —who was watching her with a uncertain smile on his face. "It is nothing," answered the _kunoichi_. "Just a passing thought." This close she saw a flash of— _something_ —in his eyes that she couldn't read. It was over so fast Karai couldn't even be sure it was real, and Richard was already bending forward–

–to kiss her forehead.

"You seem tired," he explained. "Bet it's been a pretty long day for you, all those meetings and then me chattering away on top of it. Get some sleep, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."

Karai kissed his mouth mechanically. Richard smiled back before heading over to the _genkan-_ like entranceway and the shoes he'd discarded there. As the door opened, almost too late, she recalled her manners. "Have a good night, Richard," she told him.

He poked his head back into the kitchen, sending one last smile her way. "You too, Karai." Then he was gone.

Alone in her suite, released for the night, Karai poked idly at the cooling cookware in her sink before deciding to leave it until tomorrow. The _kunoichi_ always woke early to train anyway, and she had no classes to oversee anymore. Taking on Ch'rell's position as clan head and Oroku Industries' CEO demanded—deserved—too much for her to split her attention. For now, Karai would go to bed.

Chaplin had been right: she was tired. Only rest never seemed to help.

-/-

And that was her routine. Work, eat, sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Sometimes Chaplin called to say his experiments were running late, could he bring lunch tomorrow instead? She invariably said yes. Her evening meal was ordered from the cafeteria those nights, and Karai had tea instead of wine. It didn't occur to her to join the engineer in his lab instead.

She told Fujikara to organize a catered lunch for the research department and set aside twenty minutes in her schedule for a personal appearance. Chaplin's team had worked against time and known laws of physics alike to develop technology that could stand against the Shredder-demon's sorceries. For the most part, they even succeeded. Their efforts deserved gratitude on top of the clan's respect. Otherwise it was meetings and memos, forms and attendance at strategic functions, all the business of running a multibillion-dollar corporation. Karai played her role dutifully.

Yet every so often, something broke the monotony. That look in Chaplin's eyes after the stir-fry dinner, one she never caught again but still seemed to hang like a shadow over every night afterwards. The sword-wielding captain of her Elite, the Shredder's _ichiro_ , delivering the secured files she'd requested himself and lingering after dismissal to say, _Shisho_ , _if there is any assistance we may offer…_ Or catching the mayor's voice outside her door, Karai reflexively bracing for his thinly-veiled venality and effusive handshaking—only to hear his tread move _away_ from her office. Her public relations manager, the _kunoichi_ later learned, handled the man's minor issue. Fujikara never even knocked.

And a weekend outside the city where Chaplin took her horseback riding, the animal's sheer enthusiasm convincing Karai to give the mare her head and _run_. They'd taken a jump together, launching themselves into a cornflower-blue sky, and the very brightness of the air pierced Karai through as woman and beast defied gravity for one shining moment. Landing knocked the breath from her or Karai thought she might have even laughed.

That night she dreamed of hoofbeats and woke in a cold sweat. A few weeks later, Chaplin said they should talk.

-/-

New York had been snowing on and off for about a week by the morning Chaplin came to her office. It was an odd time for the scientist; he generally kept to picking her up at the end of the day, barring the occasional pre-arranged lunch. Chaplin knew she was a busy woman and Karai appreciated his consideration. Today he'd brought them both coffee from a little café down the street. Eating there had been one of their first dates, and Karai had smiled upon tasting the cinnamon brewed with the fresh-ground beans. Richard's excuse for the treat today was the weather being particularly cold outside. Karai sipped her drink—black, no sugar—and thanked him for his thoughtfulness. She was getting better at remembering little things like that.

"So," said Richard, sitting on the corner of her desk.

Karai duly glanced up. Yet to her surprise, Chaplin wasn't looking back. Instead, his attention seemed fixed on the white flakes falling outside the floor-to-ceiling windows she had expanded upon as part of the tower's renovations. Her desk needed to be turned as a result—too exposed to have Karai's back to an opening like that—but the amount of light that came through was more than worth the shift. Sometimes, with the sun on her face, the fatigue still dogging the _kunoichi_ seemed to ease a little.

"So?" she echoed, feeling the silence stretch too long.

He blinked. "Right. Sorry," he added, unnecessarily. Chaplin turned towards her. His eyes wouldn't quite meet Karai's own.

"So I was thinking… well, actually I was wondering… that is, I mean…"

Possibilities flicked through Karai's mind like cards. _What does he want? A project extension? Extra funding?_

_…Sex?_

Thankfully the man stopped. Gave himself a split-second shake. Then, finally meeting her gaze, Richard asked, "Would you go out to dinner with me? To a restaurant. This Friday?"

Today was Thursday.

"Oh." He'd acted so _serious_ about it. "If you like."

"Good. Great! That is—thank you." Chaplin smiled, but it was a thin and anxious thing. Her acquiescence had done nothing to lift his air of resolve. Another possibility flipped over, heretofore unconsidered. Karai fought the urge to bolt.

_Oh, **no.**_

He wouldn't– He _couldn't_ – They had only been dating three _months_. That was far too soon for–

"Because I think we need to talk."

_…Oh._

And perhaps Karai would have preferred her previous suspicion after all.

"If you like," she repeated, feeling something frozen and heavy settle in the pit of her stomach.

"Okay," her boyfriend nodded. "Thanks, Karai." Chaplin stood up, a little awkward, and clutched his paper cup. "So I'll… see you then." Another nod.

He didn't wait for her reply. His steps were quick on the hard floor of her office and the door slid shut behind him with a faint, final click. Karai took another sip of her tasteless coffee. It might as well have been cold.

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. I have been struggling to get this out for SO LONG. Big thanks to my beta, he knows who he is and did a heck of a job. All mistakes are my own.
> 
>  _gossip and shadows_ : from the Japanese phrase _uwasa o sureba kage ga desu_ , meaning essentially 'If you gossip about someone, their shadow will appear.' Similar to 'speak of the devil' in English. Translation taken from [here.](http://nihonshock.com/2010/01/japanese-proverbs-december-2009/)  
>  _genin_ : entrance-level ninja, Shredder used them like cannon fodder. I freely admit I am riffing off Naruto.  
>  _shacho-san_ : polite way to refer to the head of a (business) company  
>  _kunoichi, shinobi_ : more formal terms for female ninja and ninja in general, respectively. As far as I can tell, _shinobi_ is not exclusive to male ninja.  
>  _ichiro_ : I made this one up. Translates literally as 'first son'. A title given to the leader of the Foot Elite, who functions as both bodyguard and direct subordinate to the head of the Foot clan. If Karai was the Shredder's right hand, this was his left. Hun was a separate arm. The rest of the Elite are referred to in a similar manner: _jiro_ (second son), _saburo_ (third son), and _shiro_ (fourth son). We will be meeting them all - eventually.  
>  _shisho_ : master/mistress, especially of some traditional art, or teacher. The Ninja Tribunal also used it.


	2. Chapter 2

Friday dawned—and passed—all too quickly. At three, Chaplin sent her an email saying he had a reservation at one of New York's more private establishments for eight o'clock. At seven, Karai put away her work and went upstairs to change. She arrived at the restaurant at five to eight precisely, and the maitre d' showed her to the table. Richard was waiting.

In a suit.

Well, Karai hardly came dressed in sparring clothes herself. The _kunoichi_ wore her heels and long-sleeved cocktail dress like armour, feeling almost aggressively colourful in burgundy-on-burgundy lace. Black was a very serviceable colour, she felt. Black, plain, with a touch of red for contrast. But that dress was another casualty of the Shredder-demon's attack and among the spare things she'd had shipped over from Japan in the aftermath, this was the closest. Karai made it work even if it wasn't quite what she wanted.

 _This is not what I wanted…  
_She felt a shudder go down her spine.

Most of that desperate, short-lived flight from Earth eighteen months ago still remained a blur. The clan's lead physician had confirmed a hairline jaw fracture, amongst other cuts and bruises, and suspected a concussion. What she did remember was hearing her father scream as Leonardo looked down in judgement. Hands bound, grief burning in her throat, she'd had no venom readied for him. Only a child's wail: _Iyadda! Iyadda!_

Chaplin held her chair out for her. Graciously Karai accepted, and allowed him to push it in behind her.

_This is not what I wanted._

The waiter interrupted with a bottle of wine; Chaplin must have ordered it before she came.

_This is not what I wanted._

Karai smiled at the waiter. Karai smiled at Chaplin.

_This is not what I wanted._

She looked at her menu. "I will have the fish, thank you."

-/-

There was a reason the scientist usually let her choose: the white Chaplin picked was too sweet. Yet he was the one who called this meeting, so Karai let him lead.

Unfortunately that seemed to be in circles.

He filled the time between ordering and first course with chatter about the new research facility she'd approved outside the city. From first course to second course, he switched to reconstruction efforts inside the city. New York's transformation might have been an illusion but the destruction the demon and his minions left in their wake was all too real. It had been a race against the oncoming winter to get at least temporary accommodations set up for all those left homeless. Oroku Industries was the project's largest private contributor, naturally. Neither Karai nor her father had been inclined to let money sit around when there was something more useful it could do—like earn public goodwill and political favour.

Finally, as their entrées steadily disappeared and the end of the meal approached, Karai grew tired of waiting. _Because I think we need to talk_ , Chaplin had said, and then—nothing. What was the point in drawing this out?

_So get on with it then._

"Richard, " Karai cut him off. "Why did you ask me here?"

The redhead froze. Carefully he put down knife and fork. Then, taking a deep breath, hands flat on the table, Chaplin really looked at her for the first time that evening. "Karai. Where do you see us going?"

The question hung between them, knife-edged and gleaming. Distantly the _kunoichi_ thinks she really _would_ have preferred a proposal. But with a calm born from surviving battle after battle against men and monsters twice her size, Karai bought herself a few precious moments by forcing herself to sip the too-sweet wine. The glass made no sound as she set it back on the white-draped table. "Is there something wrong with where we are now?" sheresponded pleasantly.

Her mind threw up a catalogue: three doors including a fire exit led outside, a fourth opened into the kitchen, and she had her choice of windows. The man two tables down was ex-military but not recent; he played it up to impress his date. The woman in the party of three to her right had had some training but never fought for her life. The rest were civilians but could slow her down if they worked together–

 _Ridiculous_.

This was not a mission or enemy territory. This was an ordinary dinner with her ordinary boyfriend—who reached out now to gently take her hand. His eyes held that same indecipherable look as over the dishwasher. "I think… yeah," he admitted. "Karai, what do you want?"

She tried another tack, the most obvious conclusion. "Is this about sex?"

Richard flushed to match his hair. "No! No, I–"

"Because if so, that is not–"

" _It is not about sex_ ," he hissed _sotto voce_ , trying and failing not to look around to see if anyone had overheard. "Oh my god, Karai, I was trying to be _respectful_ – You know, like, cultural differences and stuff–"

Unexpectedly Karai felt a flicker of amusement. Never had she seen the scientist so thoroughly flustered before, let alone over something as inconsequential as–

"It's about that, right there."

The _kunoichi_ blinked to see Richard pointing at her. She hastily smoothed her face into bland attentiveness.

He shook his head. "No, no." Lifting his free hand, Richard brushed her bottom lip with his thumb. "You smiled," he said simply. "I haven't seen you do that for weeks. Certainly not at me."

"I smile," objected Karai, unsettled by this sudden shift. "At you. Often."

"Not for real." Chaplin sighed. "I don't make you happy, Karai," was his confession. "So I don't know what you're doing with me."

Karai felt something quiver just under her breastbone. "You—you do make me happy," she insisted. "I like you very much, Cha– Richard."

Too late she corrected herself. The scientist smiled, sorrow in those dark grey eyes. "And I _love_ you, Karai."

The feeling stirred again, stronger, like distant thunder. Karai stared at the blank tablecloth. "What do you want from me, Richard?" she asked numbly. There was a note uncomfortably close to pleading in her voice.

"I-I can work less—spend more time with you–"

No answer.

"I know I am not an _easy_ person to–"

The hand entwined with hers squeezed. "That's not it, Karai. That's not it at all."

"Then just _tell_ me."

"I can't. I won't ask you for something you don't want to give."

"'Cannot' is not the same as 'will not'," Karai whispered. Her throat ached; she couldn't speak any louder.

"For this, it is."

And just like that, deep in her chest, the storm broke with a tiny hollow _clink_.

As gently as it had come, Chaplin pulled his hand away. "That new lab is coming online soon. I'm going to work over there for the next few weeks, help get things set up. In case you wanted some space." His chair scraped back as he stood. "I'll go take care of the cheque."

Then, never one to know when to stop talking, Richard added, "I'm sorry, Karai."

She said nothing. He left.

Silent, Karai let the waiter take the empty plates. Dry-eyed, she refused dessert.

There was nothing for her here. _So get on with it then._

 _Strength is of the mind–  
_She stood up.

 _–pain is of the body–  
_She walked out.

_–the body obeys the mind._

Karai went home.

-/-

There were no more dinners after that. Her evening meal was whatever the cafeteria had left to offer, taken back to her office as Karai worked through reports and analyses and proposals. The suite, kept spotless by the building's cleaning service, became a kind of glorified storage space. No one stopped the _kunoichi_ from working as late as she liked. Her hair was almost long enough to pull back.

It took Fujikara all of a week to question the change.

"Saki _-sama,"_ her assistant interrupted one afternoon. Karai looked up from the dispatch she had been carefully perusing, a blank page half-full with annotations open on her tablet. 

He was standing in front of her desk. Had the man knocked before coming in? She couldn't remember. Did it matter?

**_…who…_ **

"Saki- _sama_ ," he said again.

Karai blinked. "Yes, Fujikara- _san_?" 'Saki- _sama_ ' was acceptable; she would have to encourage that.

He drew in a deep breath. "Are you– That is, is there– Actually. I mean–"

Patiently, Karai fought back the urge to sigh. "Fujikara- _san_."

"Are you okay?" he blurted. "I mean, you've been working a lot lately—a _lot_ a lot—and I'm a little worried. You're always here when I come in the morning, and you're still here when I go. You aren't even taking lunch breaks any more. I know that Chaplin- _hakase_ hasn't been coming around as much–"

The _kunoichi_ set her stylus down. Fujikara's mouth snapped shut.

"I am no longer seeing Dr. Chaplin," said Karai. By her tone, she might have been discussing the weather. "He is very busy with the new lab, and I am very busy with the restoration of our satellite offices here in New York."

Fujikara winced. "Of course," he agreed. "Sorry to–"

"But you have also been diligent, Fujikara- _san_ ," she continued inexorably, "and I appreciate your hard work. Nor have you used any vacation since the demon's attack. You were wounded in that battle, were you not?"

"Yes, but–"

"Then you should have some time for yourself. Take two weeks, Fujikara- _san._ With full pay, of course."

The light through the windows caught Fujikara's eyes as his head tilted to the side, mouth an abbreviated line. Karai paused, nonplussed. _Stubborn_ was an odd look on her clumsy, overeager aide. Then his shoulders slumped and he bowed.

" _Hai_ , Saki- _sama_. Thank you for your kindness."

As he turned to go, Karai picked up the pen again. "And Fujikara- _san_ ," she added, making him pause. "On your return, we should discuss reinstating you on your team. I have kept you from them for too long as it is."

A double-tap on the tablet woke it from idleness. Her notes were waiting right where she'd left off. She heard the whisper of the door's track as it slid home.

Yet the final click never came. Only Fujiyama's voice, low and steady. "I'd rather be here, Mistress."

Karai's gaze flicked up–  
–only to see the door closed, shut tight.

So the man was half-competent after all; that did not excuse impertinence. _Your insolence_ , the _kunoichi_ thought, and felt a chill. But with her concentration broken anyway, Karai dug out a protein bar from the stash she kept in the bottom drawer of her desk.

-/-

The decision to put Fujikara on vacation was—not a _bad_ one, overall. Already into December, two weeks off at this point led nicely into the clan's New Year holidays. She would have needed to pull interim replacements from the civilian secretary pool at that point anyway. It helped that they were both capable and unquestioning, particularly about little things like when she was sleeping. Or _if_.

Because that was a problem now.

Karai never considered herself an easy sleeper. She needed quiet, darkness, space—the slightest noise or change in light would wake her. One more reason to avoid another body next to hers, the _kunoichi_ always thought. Now she wouldn't have noticed a difference. Bed or couch, office or apartment suite, neither let Karai settle enough to find any true rest. Sunrise inevitably woke her if she wasn't already staring dry-eyed at the ceiling. That the sun rose later and later as the month progressed was little consolation. Fatigue weighed on the _kunoichi_ like chains.

She tried catnaps; they made her feel leaden and dull. Karai took them anyway, helpless not to, and nearly missed a meeting as a result. The whispers afterwards matched the eyes that had been on the young Foot mistress from the moment she donned the Shredder's name.

No one had whispered if her father showed up late.

Nor did trying to wear herself out in training—solo, by choice—help. Finishing a _kata_ became more about endurance than skill. When one of the Foot's wooden training dummies caught her in the head with a sandbag, the first time in years, Karai staggered as fireworks ricocheted through her skull. For a moment the _kunoichi_ even saw movement in one of the _dojo_ 's shadowy edges. Certainly no one was there when her vision cleared. After that, exercising harder only left her feeling heavier, feeling _compressed_ —like wearing a suit one size too small all day.

Any of the clan's medical staff would have seen her. That was why they were on retainer. Karai merely stretched more and sparred less. She had no plans for battle anyway.

_The turtles. The Utroms. Bishop. How does one live under the same sky?_

All around her, people cleaned and decorated and made preparations for the holidays. Karai fought for just a few minutes of precious sleep.

-/-

Fujikara was the first to say something but one other also dared, on an evening long after most of the building had left. One minute Karai was alone with her paperwork. The next, a man walked out of darkness from the corner of her office. The only reason the _kunoichi_ could think of for why she didn't fling her empty mug at him was that sleep deprivation had impaired her reflexes. As it was, her inhale was sharp—and audible.

The captain of her Elite froze. Carefully, visibly, he dropped to one knee, bowing his head. "My apologies, _shisho_ ," he said, a touch of embarrassment flavouring his voice. "I should have knocked."

"'No door is locked against the _ichiro_ of the Foot'," Karai quoted, trying to convince her heart to stop racing. It made her chest ache, pain clutching every breath like thorns. "You are free to go where you will. Please, stand."

He rose to his feet—and she almost wished he hadn't. Karai might have been tall for a woman in Japan but the current _ichiro_ was tall for anywhere. With her seated, he towered over the _kunoichi_. She recalled Ch'rell mentioning how the Utroms were descended from reef-dwelling ambush hunters and, although she'd never found the nerve to confirm, Karai had her suspicions about why the Shredder traditionally favoured height in his Elite. Regardless of motivation, this man had been her father's first choice of bodyguard and a trusted warrior. She would listen to whatever he had to say.

…If, that is, he would get around to saying it.  
Instead of just standing there.  
Silently.

The adrenaline of the _ichiro_ 's unexpected appearance only went so far. Already Karai could feel weariness weighing on her again—and the file in her hand was the last thing keeping her from lying down in her useless bed to at least pretend at sleep. That file, and this person. _What was his name again? Sa-something Jyu-something? Sano? Sato?_ Her mind was foggy with exhaustion.

"It is very late," she finally said.

"Yes," he seized on it—almost gratefully, Karai thought. "And you are still here." Unsure where this was going, she nodded politely. Then the Elite added, "Although it seems like you are always here late, and arriving early."

Karai felt an eyebrow go up. Was he… _criticizing_ the hours she kept? Anger kindled, a welcome burn in her stomach. Her bland reply was in sharp counterpoint to the stare she levelled at him. "It is my honour to lead the Foot, whatever that requires of me."

The man shifted uneasily. _Good._ "We are honoured to have you as our leader–"

Meaningless flattery; she dismissed it.

"–but I must ask if there is–"

Her chair was not made to screech no matter how abruptly the _kunoichi_ stood. The wheels ticked, at most, as it rolled a little ways from the desk. Yet Sa-something Jyu-something's speech cut off like it had. Still a foot shorter, Karai eyed the Elite with the hauteur she'd modeled after Ch'rell himself. "I am quite capable of filling my father's place, _ichiro-san_. My only concern is the well-being of our clan. That _will_ be all."

He sank to one knee again, head bent. "Yes, _shisho_. Please excuse my presumption." Gaze still lowered, the man left quietly—and visibly—through the door.

Karai pulled her chair back into position. She flipped through the pages left of work, trying to force her brain into regrouping from the interruption.

No use. The words blurred together no matter how the _kunoichi_ squinted.

…It really was late. None of these were urgent. And the spark of pique still flickering was just enough to push Karai up to her rooms tonight instead of sleeping on the office couch. With a few precise touches, the CEO shut her office down for the night.

-/-

Almost before Karai realized, the solstice was upon her. The shortest day of the year had initiated the clan's winter celebrations for over a hundred years now. Once it had been the highlight of its own festival, the most ancient turning point between old year and new. Ch'rell had accepted many customs as part of adapting to his new home but never found much patience for the vagaries of a simple planetary moon—or the human calendars relying on it when he arrived a millennium ago. So although Oroku Saki played along in public, his clan was run in a more logical fashion.

An experienced general, Ch'rell had also understood the importance of shared ritual in creating a unified and effective in-group.

With the advent of Emperor Meiji's adoption of the Western calendar in 1873, however, the difference between Japan's New Year and the Foot's private traditions became close enough that the distinction was moot. From the solstice to New Year's then became the customary holiday and all operations over that period were reduced to skeleton crews. Karai rarely bothered with such conventions for herself. Running an international _Fortune_ Global 500 company wasn't something that could be placed on hold, even if her duties at this time of year turned more towards obligatory appearances at galas and staff functions than the reports she was currently reviewing. Neither she nor Ch'rell had been inclined to fuss over days and dates.

Her stylus slowed.

This would be her second year without so much as a meal together. No invitations addressed to the Sakis, plural, or to the Orokus when they were in Japan; no parties to attend in pursuit of a goal. No small gifts—a knife for her, a tie for him—to exchange on New Year's Day. There was only one Saki now, one Oroku. Karai was alone.

**_…alone…_ **

_The turtles. The Utroms. Bishop._ They took her father. It was _their fault_. But after so long, that chorus was beginning to lose meaning. The Utroms were beyond her reach. Bishop had been punished by his superiors, as much as they would allow. Even the Foot was not prepared to sacrifice Oroku Industries' lucrative contracts with the American government for one man. As for the turtles–

She'd taken their home from them. Their valuables, their sense of security, everything she could to balance out her loss. It still wasn't enough. It would _never_ be enough.

Their new lair was under the pond by Belvedere Castle in Central Park. The turtles may have blindfolded her when she came to meditate with Splinter and the Ancient One, searching for a way to bleed power from the Shredder-demon, but she'd found them before with less. Donatello still did not conceal his presence as well as he thought when it came to siphoning off the city's electrical grid. Yet the counter of being under truce at the time remained. Having come from that source, even with the demon'sdefeat, Karai could no more use her knowledge against the turtles than she could give up her father's vengeance.

It simply wouldn't be right.

Fingers white on her pen, Karai thought, _you dishonour me_. Her mouth tasted faintly of blood. Giving herself a shake, the _kunoichi_ bent back to her work.

-/-

The snow started before midday. She could see it coming down in thick clumps past her window, the sky heavy with clouds. Within the hour, New York was covered in white. By two o'clock, Karai was ordering home anyone who could possibly be spared. Even security was stripped to the bare minimum and set to guard only the most restricted floors of the tower. Outside, the drifts continued to grow.

The storm abated once, late in the afternoon. Karai stood at her window in the weak light, turning her face towards what warmth it had to spare as the sun descended towards the horizon. The moment it disappeared, the snow started again.

She tried to fall back into her emails and briefings. It should have been easier than ever, given how quiet the building was. No telephones ringing, no chatter passing under her door. Not even the wind blew outside, judging by how straight the snow fell. Only the whirr of the heating systems and the building's own occasional groan as it settled on its foundation. Nevertheless, Karai could not find her focus. Finally she slapped the pen down, frustrated at both the endless amounts of paper that found its way to her desk and at herself for letting it happen. The _kunoichi_ was sure her father had not dealt with nearly so much bureaucracy.

Of course, her father had also had _her_. She'd eased his burden, taking on tasks too simple or boring to be worth his time. Now Karai carried it all.

Just—just _once_ she'd like–

No. She knew her duty. She had a responsibility.

Only… there was no one here to mark whether she was in office or not. No one here to care. The shortest day of the year, and it was _over_. The clock read close to five anyway. 

_Just once._

Karai packed away her notes with trembling fingers, feeling her heart pound. She left her tablet and her phone with them, tidy in the darkness, and the _click_ of the door behind her was crisp as autumn air.

-/-

The head of the Foot found herself wandering down to the library. Her father's statue still stood in pride of place there, having survived disfigurement and catastrophe alike—albeit not without consequences. Already the necessary repairs had softened the severe lines of his human form. Karai paused at its foot. Looking up, she could feel those sightless eyes boring through her.

She hadn't asked the sculptor to make him smiling. Hadn't asked anything, in fact, other than that he be dressed traditionally. So perhaps it was only her imagination that gave his face that measuring, not-quite-pleased look. Harsh as Ch'rell was, Karai _knew_ he had been pleased with her. Proud of her, even. His personal student, his trusted second-in-command, his chosen heir.

His daughter.

Karai never asked the alien why, in one of the worst parts of Tokyo, did he deliberately follow the sound of breaking glass. It was enough for her that he had. Destiny brought them together across all the vastness of space; fate bound their lives. And yet, here she stood alive and well while he lay unburied on an icy rock galaxies away.

 _The turtles. The Utroms. Bishop. None of them—no one, not_ one single _–_

Vengeance aside, Karai could never forgive them for that. Not one of them had thought to let her go with him.

**_…abandoned…_ **

The room was too warm, too close. Karai needed air. Striding over to the public elevators, a tap from her keycard simultaneously opened the doors and locked the car to any other calls for the duration of her trip. She pressed the button for the roof.

-/-

For security's sake, no single elevator spanned the entire height of the building. The highest the main bank reached was the human resources department, one floor above the daycare and main training _dojo_ provided for all employees. Her own offices were a few floors below in order to throw off potential intruders. Those wanting to reach the more sensitive areas of the building—the Foot's security and communications hub, Chaplin's laboratories, and so on—had to travel to the other side of the building and past the many windows of one of the building's most social departments.

Those windows were dark and eyeless now, of course. Nor did the _kunoichi_ bother turning on the overhead fluorescents; enough light spilled through the open door waiting at the other end for her. Her card had paused the security measures that normally locked down this floor when it was empty. The few guards left had more important areas to secure. All the janitors had long since been sent home to beat the storm.

Karai encountered no one, and was glad.

-/-

Outside, the emptied sky was soft and black as velvet. Cold bit through the _kunoichi_ 's shirtsleeves. The tips of her fingers went numb and she vaguely remembered the suit jacket left in her office. But she only breathed in slow icy lungfuls, ignoring the burn.

There was still some evidence of the gardeners clearing the ornamental pathway earlier that day. Exposed, the irregular stepping-stones had turned slick under their fresh coat of snow. Karai followed them to the tree-lined wall where she sat and looked out over the city below. Snow blanketed New York, muting its many lights into a gentle luminescence against which only the brightest stars could compete.

**_…alone…_ **

What was she even doing, creeping away like an errant child? Mistress of the Foot, head of Oroku Industries, the Shredder herself—but Karai was so tired.

_You go too far._

Kept from sleep so long, she must be dreaming while awake now. Why else the odd, wayward thoughts?

There was the matter of revenge. Her father's honour demanded it. Yet the Foot—seemed almost _accepting_ of the situation. They raised no protest when she changed course from punishing the turtles to preparing against the demon's rise, nor even when she ordered them to cooperate with their foes to defeat said relict. And what would finishing the vendetta even change? Ch'rell was still gone. Chaplin had left. Karai was alone.

**_…abandoned…_ **

Again.

**_…again…_ **

Her chest hurt. She only wanted to _sleep_.

The _kunoichi_ gave up on answers coming tonight. Pushing away from the wall, her feet met the inlaid path—and _slid_. Limbs half-frozen by the wintry air, she twisted to catch herself–  
–too _late_ , too _slow_ , reflexes thick with cold–  
–and felt the bright crack of skull against stone.

Karai's vision whited out with more stars than the night could account for.

-/-

Dazed, the _kunoichi_ found herself staring up at bare branches. She must have tumbled far enough to land off the path and under one of the nearby trees. Unsteady fingers reached up to investigate the tender throb invading her skull and found dampness where the ache was worst. Looking for the wall—a move that nearly made her vomit—Karai saw a dark stain along its edge.

So she'd hit her head on the corner, hard enough to break skin. That was reason enough to seek medical attention. But trying to get up made her nauseous—the _kunoichi_ felt so much better lying still—just her and the sky and the snow. The pulse fluttering in her ears was the only sound in the world.

 _Why_ must she struggle to her feet? Why not just… lie here for a while?

… ** _alone_** _……_ ** _abandoned_** _…_

 _Strength is of the mind.  
_And she was—had been—strong. Every time. Tokyo's streets, her father's training, the turtles and their Utroms, the demon and his monsters–

Karai got up. Karai kept going. Even when it hurt.

 _Pain is of the body.  
_No, pain was in her _head_. That's why she was lying on the ground, idiot.

Oh. No one said that. She was alone.

… ** _alone_** _…_

No one to fight.

… ** _abandoned_** _…_

No one to look.

… ** _again_** _…_

No one here.

Karai closed her eyes. Her pounding head gradually quietened. The weight the _kunoichi_ had carried so long made every breath feel thick and heavy. Slowly, the night sank teeth into her bones.

But as darkness pulled her under, at the very limits of consciousness, a man's voice said: " _Shisho_?"

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the solstice, the still point  
> of the sun, its cusp and midnight,  
> the year’s threshold  
> and unlocking, where the past  
> lets go of and becomes the future;  
> the place of caught breath…  
> —Margaret Atwood, Eating Fire: Selected Poetry 1965-1995
> 
>  _iyadda_ : slang, used to protest or express disgust, can be translated as no/do not want to do/do not want to see  
>  _-hakase_ : polite suffix similar to - _sensei_ but used for those with high academic credentials like PhDs
> 
> The pre-Meiji Japanese calendar was at least partly based on lunar months, which led to some jiggery-pokery in order to keep important dates lined up in a reasonably consistent fashion from year to year. 'Jiggery-pokery' is the technical term because I don't get it either; I just like solstices and equinoxes. For the purposes of this fic, Oroku Saki is last name Oroku, first name Saki, so Karai is officially Oroku Karai. The whole 'Mr./Ms. Saki' error was a transcription error somewhere up the line that neither Ch'rell nor Karai found particularly useful to fix. If you're in the mood for trivia, google the pond next to Belvedere Castle in Central Park. I have no idea if there is a pumping station underneath it but the TMNT creative team was clearly having a giggle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the Shortest Day came and the year died  
> And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world  
> Came people singing, dancing,  
> To drive the dark away.  
> —Susan Cooper, The Shortest Day

The forest here is old and thick. No moonlight breaks through its leaves. _Things_ rustle in the undergrowth but Karai cannot run any longer. She waits for her fate at the base of a tree. With no particular fanfare, a piece of the darkness breaks off to land in front of Karai.

It is a crow.

Close enough to touch, it stares at her—and there must be some light that reaches the forest floor, to glint off those ink-bright eyes as they look her up and down. Thunder rolls distantly, its rumble caught and scattered by tangled branches.

"Well, aren't you a sorry sight," the bird finally says.

Karai blinks. Whatever she expected from this—dream? nightmare?—hadn't been that. "I'm asleep," the _kunoichi_ murmurs. "Or—am I dying after all?" The nausea is gone and her eyes focus on the corvid without difficulty. Her head does not pain her at all.

The crow snorts, a neat trick with a beak. "Everyone's dying, featherhead. Some people are just more aggressive about it. Anything in particular make you want to hurry things along?"

_Featherhead?_

"I see no reason to explain myself to you," retorts Karai, a sharpness she'd nearly forgotten edging her voice.

"Oh, because you've got something better to do right now?" it snaps back. She shoots the creature a glare but Karai cannot pretend her silence is any kind of argument. Brought to ground at last, she rests her head against rough bark and feels the words slip free like shrapnel from a wound.

"I… I am so _tired_." Even now the _kunoichi_ can feel how her shoulders threaten to bow with weariness. The thunder, still distant, echoes under the trees again. "Of fighting, of—struggling. I just want to rest."

_Have I not done enough?_

If birds had eyebrows and could raise them, this one did so now. "And did the thought of taking off some of that armour never occur to you? Seems like a pretty useless thing to me."

_Armour?_

But yes, she is wearing the Shredder's _o-yoroi_ —how had she not noticed it earlier?

"It was my father's," Karai answers slowly, staring at the _tekko-kagi_ arching over her left hand. "It is all I have left." Of him. Of anything.

_I am alone._

"Idiot."

Her head snaps up to glare at the crow. _How_ ** _dare_** _–_

It rattles a mocking laugh. "Yes you, featherhead— _idiot_."

Hotly she replies, "I will not stand to be–"

"First of all, you're sitting," the bird interrupts. "Second, not that I actually care, but it's just sad to watch you mope there like the world's most useless kitchen grater. If this father of yours was so wonderful, why's a hunk of junk"—the crow eyes the _o-yoroi_ scathingly—"the only thing he left you?"

Karai refuses to rise to the bait. "My father was honoured and feared across the galaxy–" she responds.

"Is _that_ why you wear a dead man's name?"

"–I am privileged to carry on his title and work–"

"Raising a daughter like he raised a dynasty. The means," the bird adds nastily, "to an end."

"–leading the Foot clan to– what?" Karai blinks again. "No," she shakes her head. "No, he didn't–"

"After all, you weren't useful enough to come with him, were you? Left behind to stand guard—like a pet."

"–it wasn't like that–"

"Would he have even remembered to come back before you died of old age?"

"–he wasn't–"

"Why are you trying so hard to _be_ him?"

" _Enough!_ "

Dark eyes look up at her, merciless in their scrutiny.

"Shut up," says Karai quietly. "Shut up. You know nothing."

Heat gathers behind her eyes but they are dry, dry as dust. The _kote_ creak under her clenched fists. Savage, she continues, "My father was the greatest leader the Foot will ever have. An unparalleled warrior, who inspired loyalty and devotion in his followers, fear and respect in his enemies. He should be here now, leading his clan. Not—not dead alone on some forsaken rock a galaxy away from the closest thing he had to a home!"

The crow looses another laugh, softer, more bitter this time. "And whose fault is that?"

Karai goes white. Thunder rides the air again, closer now. Every breath tastes like ozone. _The turtles_ , she wants to say. _The Utroms. Bishop_. Yet the words die in her throat, hollow and splintering. Here, under the crow's gaze, they have finally worn too thin.

"Tell me, insolent one: how far is too far?"

They stare at each other, woman and bird, and the ground shakes underneath her like a starship pulling itself apart. Azure brilliance bursts through the dirt, shooting up in jets and ribbons of fiery plasma that tear the night to shreds.

— _she stands on a platform, sword in hand, Ch'rell in his armour, the open door_ —

Something charges through the trees behind her. Its footsteps beat against the forest floor, closing in—too slow, too late.

And she–

-/-

–woke up.

Heart racing, Karai bolted to her feet. Or—tried to. Her legs, too clumsy and weak, folded underneath her weight. She succeeded only in throwing herself off the couch—couch?—as hardwood floor rushed towards her with alarming speed.

A wall of black cloth intervened.

"Karai _-sama_!" Karai heard someone say. The Foot head looked up to find the captain of her Elite staring back with wide startled eyes. He'd caught her by the elbows. Bracing them both, he managed to lift Karai so she could get her balance. Yet the _kunoichi_ could only stare numbly. Her mind was full of blue—blue metal, blue light, blue mask dangling over her father's robotic arm–

– _how_ ** _dare_** _you–  
_– _you dishonour me_ –

She blinked.

_Jyu-something…_

"Jyu… _san_?" The words felt thick, not-quite-right, in her mouth.

He nodded attentively. "Yes, _shisho."_

Karai flinched.

– _you go too far!–_

His hands tightened on her arms, not letting her fall. "…yes, Oroku- _sama_ ," he said instead.

Those dark eyes were watchful now. Karai had the faint urge to bristle—she could not _stand_ being humoured and handled like some overbred heiress—and clung to the feeling like an anchor. Anything to set against the images, the voices, that threatened to overturn her. The _kunoichi_ forced herself to straighten, knees rubbery but strong enough to hold. Her stomach stayed where it was supposed to. 

– _with your insolence–_

But Jyu-something-or-other didn't let go, not until he'd somehow steered her into sitting on the couch again. Karai recognized her surroundings now. The _ichiro_ had brought her down to her quarters. The coffee table had been pushed aside and an open first aid kit spilled its contents onto the floor near his feet. Dropped, presumably, when he caught her. Her gaze lifted to Jyu-something's face as he settled back on one knee. He'd waited for her to get her bearings, a gesture that was—considerate. Annoyingly so.

She did not want to deal with kindness right now.

Before Karai could ask, the _ichiro_ volunteered, "I found you in the garden. You were stirring, but I did not see you fall. Oroku- _sama_ , did something happen?"

"I slipped."

He blinked; in skepticism or mere surprise, the _kunoichi_ couldn't tell. His gaze lowered. "I saw blood on the wall. I was about to call the doctor."

"Do not," ordered Karai, feeling herself shrink inwards at even the thought of having to deal with more people—and their _concern_. "I am fine." _Just go,_ she willed. _Please_.

Jyu looked at her. "You are not fine," said the man quietly.

His eyes were unbearable. Karai stood up.

– _how dare you too far_ –

"Out," she demanded, too high, too thin, unable to force her voice down. "Get out!"

Stumbling backwards, he protested, "Oroku- _sa_ –"

"I said _go_!"

Not waiting for the Elite to obey, Karai fled to her room—to a door she could close against him. Then to the ensuite, and its door. Shaking, she put her back to it, sliding down to sit on the cold bathroom tile as she waited for the sound of his leaving.

He did go, eventually; the _kunoichi_ even heard the lock click behind him.

Leaving her to face her treacherous memory.

Karai buried her face in her knees as the events on board that long-destroyed spaceship played out in her head like a curtain had finally lifted.

– _How_ ** _dare_** _you.–  
__–You have defeated them, my lord. Leave them in their dishonour.–  
__–Karai, you go too far!–_

Her jaw ached.

 _–You dishonour_ **_me_ ** _with your insolence.–_

Of all the things to _forget_ – But how could she bear to remember? Suddenly bereft, no chance to even say goodbye, expected to carry clan and company as both reeled at the violence of Oroku Saki's loss if not the fact of it—pelted with questions from the mayor-police-press–

She'd had a mild fever after the Utroms unceremoniously deposited her and Chaplin in a holding cell in One Police Plaza. A reaction to their technology, Karai had assumed, on top of her other injuries. All together they left her feeling distant and foggy, barely able to sort through what she could and could not say until the clan's New York physician raised enough fuss to send all interrogators packing for a full twenty-four hours. The fever broke after she spent most of that time sleeping and the _kunoichi_ did indeed feel more like herself afterwards.

Her grief stayed the same. Her father was dead, or would be soon enough, execution made slow by exposure and starvation.

Karai knew Ch'rell would rather have gone down in fire and fury, like he intended to on that Utrom prison ship a thousand years ago. This time, if she—if _she_ hadn't stopped him, her father would have killed the turtles and their master where they lay. He would not have been outside the ship's core when Bishop's missiles hit, would not have been trapped until Chaplin could release the door, might yet have pulled off one last impossible escape. Failing that—there was still fire and fury. And his daughter, at his side, as fate meant her to be.

She'd taken the Shredder's name out of loyalty, out of duty. To avenge his loss with blood. Now Karai knew: she possessed neither, and the blood owed first and foremost was hers.

_How does one live under the same sky as their master's slayer?_

The answer was: _one didn't_. So what would she do?

What would she do?

-fin-

 _Cast me gently_  
_Into morning  
_ _For the night has been unkind._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _o-yoroi_ : the traditional suit of armour worn by samurai  
>  _tekko-kagi_ : the two-pronged claw-thing the Shredder wears on the left side. Apparently the original use of such weapons was for farmers to cut weeds. There's a joke somewhere in there about getting whacked by a weed-whacker.  
>  _kote_ : the armoured sleeves with traditional Japanese armour  
> Lyrics are from Sarah McLachlan, _Answer_. 
> 
> Grief and guilt are a nasty combination; I may not particularly like Karai's behaviour in season 4 but it does make a lot of sense given those two factors, her sense of _giri_ (as deliberately influenced by Ch'rell), and _bushido_ 's own Confucian-derived precept of "with him who has slain his father, a son should not live under the same sky." Basically, if we stop looking at Karai with Western values (i.e. Leo's version of _bushido_ , yes this is a pet peeve) and instead put her in the context of actual East Asian and specifically Japanese traditional moral codes - her revenge crusade would have been _expected_ of her as little as a few hundred years ago. Like the 47 _ronin_ , from that point of view, the only criticism is how long she waited to enact vengeance. 
> 
> What doesn't make sense is Karai ignoring her own role in Ch'rell's capture. She's too single-minded throughout season 4 to be consciously struggling over that, even with the death-seeker vibe she was giving off in Prodigal Son and Good Genes. She also got banged around a bit in Exodus, if not as bad as the turtles. Soooo... she gets to be dealing with it unconsciously via Trauma-Induced Amnesia! Grief and unacknowledged guilt are an even nastier combination.
> 
> One of these days, I will actually be nice to my faves. More thoughts on Karai are [here](https://nixariel.tumblr.com/post/149496058430/hokay-lets-say-we-saw-the-exodus-arc-through), [here](https://nixariel.tumblr.com/post/159250861770/as-promised-exodus-part-2-as-karai-would-have), and [here](https://nixariel.tumblr.com/post/149284741265/okay-but-listen-the-only-reason-the-turtles). A helpful post on _giri_ can be found [here](https://nixariel.tumblr.com/post/628197137595973632/some-carmen-sandiego-head-canons-in-no-particular).


End file.
